


Something Else

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Daddy Kink, Hesitant Daddy kink, Jealous John, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Nervous Sherlock, Sugar Daddy John, Twink Sherlock, Unilock, Virgin Sherlock, surgeon!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After acting like a complete brat Sherlock is cut off from the family funds and has to take a job at a small cafe. He's bored. </p><p>One day a handsome surgeon comes in with a handsome smile and an even more handsome tip. What's a twinky little uni student to do? </p><p>(suck cock. That's the answer. He's gonna suck a lot of cock)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anyone In There?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



> For my gorgeous love, jess. Hope you like it.

Sherlock twisted in his seat and growled. "You really expect me to do something so plebeian?" 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and adjusted his watch. "You need to cultivate a real work ethic, Sherlock. You can't just go around trying to find something interesting to do. Once you graduate you'll have to get a job like the rest of us." 

"I don't just go around looking for something interesting! It's my detective work, as you full well know!" Sherlock shot back. 

"And you do it for free!" Mycroft said with a huff. "You need to make your own living!" 

"Not with my trust fund I don't." Sherlock said with a teasing grin. 

"Oh, brother dear, you really don't want to play that game." Mycroft replied. 

_____

Two days later Sherlock was angrily pulling his apron over his head and drawing it into a sloppy bow behind his back. His boss walked out and looked him up and down. 

"You'll be sorry for wearing your posh clothes when you spill soup on them." the older man said. 

"I won't dress down for the likes of you." Sherlock spit. 

"Your brother told me you'd be a bit of trouble. I spent three years in Kandahar, I've dealt with worse. Wipe the frown off your face and go greet the customers." The man replied with a stern smile. 

Sherlock walked over to take his first order and the owner watched him from the back. This prat was going to be work but his brother had given the troops all the information they needed to get out of the last mission alive. He had no problem repaying the favor. 

_____

Dull. Dull, dull, dull. People walked in and ate their sandwiches and soup and then left. He'd yet to get one tip. Ridiculous. His boss had told him it was his 'appalling bedside manner' but he'd refused to change. 

He'd been working for three hours, twenty-seven minutes and seventeen seconds that day and every single moment had been pointless. He couldn't even entertain himself with deductions. Every single person that walked through the door was obvious. Cheating on the husband, sleeping with a coworker, blah, blah, blah. He ached for a challenge. 

"Excuse me. Hello, anyone in there?"

Sherlock looked up to see an older man in a bespoke pair of trousers and a dark shirt smiling at him. He instantly took in everything about the man. 

Doctor, obvious; badge from St. Barts. Wealthy but not completely comfortable with it. Thirty-nine and feeling older. Used to walk with a limp. Something else. There was something else. Ah! Former soldier! No, not just soldier, a higher rank than that. 

"John! Good to see you, mate. This is my new waiter, Sherlock. He's a bit off, don't mind him." Mr Murray said from where he'd come to stand beside Sherlock unnoticed. 

Sherlock frowned at him as the doctor looked the boy up and down. 

"Murray, good to see you. Been too long." he said. 

"I'd say." Sherlock interrupted. "And you work just round the corner. Can't tell him you've been too busy, so why haven't you stopped by, doctor Watson?" 

Dr Watson's eyebrows knit together in confusion but his smile didn't falter. 

"Christ. He's a genius, isn't he?" he asked. 

"Yeah. Bit of trouble." Murray said with a shrug. 

"Just like you used to be?" Dr Watson teased. 

Murray actually looked a bit embarrassed as he scrubbed a hand through his short hair. 

"Yeah well, I'm not like that anymore." He mumbled. 

"None of us are." The doctor replied with a sad sort of smile. 

Ah. That was why he hadn't been by. Shared trauma. Didn't want to have to face it. 

"Take a seat where you like, Captain. Sherlock, take his order." Murray said as he clapped Dr Watson on the shoulder one last time. 

Dr Watson followed Sherlock to a seat near the front. 

"You'll want to sit here." Sherlock said. 

"And why's that?" Dr Watson asked as he took the seat without hesitation. 

"Clear view of the street as well as both exits. You may be a surgeon now but you'll never stop being a soldier." Sherlock said with a touch of false boredom. 

"You really are something." The older man replied. 

Sherlock hoped the blush he felt coming on didn't reach above the collar of his shirt. 

_____

That afternoon Sherlock got his first tip. He hadn't meant to be overly helpful, it was just that the doctor brought something out in him. He wanted to please the stranger. Bizarre. 

He kept his tea hot and deduced what condiments he'd wanted all while attempting not to look too out of breath. He couldn't seem to get enough oxygen. 

When the doctor finally exited the cafe, leaving a surprising twenty pound tip in his wake, Sherlock walked out the back to have a cigarette. Christ. He couldn't stop thinking about the man. 

"Nasty habit." Dr Watson said from Sherlock's left. 

If the boy jumped a bit he couldn't be blamed. 

"Helps me think." he replied after clearing his throat. 

"Mind if I have take a drag?" Dr Watson asked as he moved closer and Sherlock was once again out of breath. Really should start back on the patch. 

"Thought you said it was a nasty habit." Sherlock replied as he passed the stick over. 

"Doesn't mean I don't give in every once in a while." the older man said as he took a long draw. 

"Don't know many doctors that smoke these days." Sherlock replied as he watched the smoke leave through John's nostrils. 

"As you said, can't stop being the soldier." Dr Watson said before turning to leave. 

_____

Later that night, after hours of thinking of the almost stranger and his rolled up sleeves, Sherlock let himself give in. He pushed his hand beneath the elastic band of his pants and gripped his slowly hardening cock. The light coming in through the grubby window would have shown his apprehension to anyone who watched but he lay there in his small flat alone. 

It had been months since he last touched himself like this and the tension in his bollocks was telling. He slowly stroked himself and let his other hand slip into his curls, pulling tight and wondering if the doctor, no, Captain would like to do so. 

The thought sent him over the edge as he pumped himself roughly. Pathetic. He felt pathetic. 

_____

Madeline poured John a glass of bourbon and handed it to him. He nodded to her and she took the seat next to him. 

"Got a lot on your mind tonight, sir?" she asked softly. 

John looked up and chewed on his lip. "Have you ever met someone who grabbed your interest in the first second?" 

"Can't say I have, sir." she replied with a soft smile. 

John took a sip of his drink and hummed while he continued to think. 

"Shirt's set out on the bed for your date. Trousers freshly pressed. Shall I pick out a tie before Ms Sarah comes?" Madeline asked. 

"That's fine, Maddie. I think I'll leave the tie tonight. Going to an art showing downtown. I don't want them to think I'm going to buy anything." John replied. 

"You can't save every penny you have, sir. You'd do with something to brighten up the flat."

John sighed and threw back the end of his drink. "We'll see. Go ahead and take the rest of the night off. I'll see you bright and early." 

"Thank you, sir. Goodnight." she said with a gentle smile.


	2. You've Got To Take Better Care Of Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock injures himself and the good doctor put his talents to use.

Sherlock was on his knees nosing at John's cock. John had a hand in his silky curls. 

"You've never done this before, have you, lad?" John asked, surprised by the roughness of his voice. 

"No, daddy." Sherlock replied, hot breath ghosting over John's cock. 

"That's fine, pet. That's fine. Take a little bit, yeah?" John said, holding his cock out so Sherlock could suck on the tip. 

Sherlock did just that, laving his tongue against the slit as he wrapped his lips around him. 

"Oh. Oh, baby, that's so good. A bit more now." John murmured.   
Sherlock pulled off with a loud smack. 

"It's too big, papa. Are you sure?" he asked. 

"Yeah, lad. Take a little more. Come on now, you can do it." John encouraged. 

Sherlock took the head between his lips again and then moved down the shaft. John gripped his hair tighter as he ran his tongue sloppily along the underside. 

"Christ! That's a good lad! Suck now, a little harder." John implored. 

Sherlock did, sucking so hard it almost hurt. John bucked his hips a bit and the younger man choked. 

"Christ, that's good. Breathe through your nose, lad. See how much you can fit. Oh, yes, just like that. Suck. Oh, God, yes! I'm gonna come. Oh, hell." John said as he spilled down Sherlock's throat. 

He woke with a start, hand still pumping his cock as the last bit of come spurted from the head. He tried to get his breathing to settle, counting four seconds in and five seconds out. 

_____

Sherlock stood in front of his mirror the next morning trying absently to tame his wild hair. Twist and defuse. Christ, it was still a mess. He'd forgot what he was doing half way through the blow-dry, mind drifting towards the mysterious doctor. Now he might have to start all over, which would be a pain because the hot water usually ran out after his shower and didn't come back on for a few hours. He had work in twenty five minutes so cold water it would be. 

As a last resort he tied a silk scarf over it while he made tea. It was something his grandmother had taught him years ago, she had the same curly locks. 

The water was boiling over, his hotplate obviously on the fritz, when Sherlock walked out of his bedroom fully clothed. He pulled the kettle off quickly, not thinking to grab a towel, and hissed as the hot metal burnt his skin. 

'Mind over matter' he thought, 'wrap it up and ignore the pain'. 

He went about making the tea, using an old rag next to the kettle to pick it up. The ice box made a loud clicking noise, it had been doing that for the past week and Sherlock didn't have the money to get an appliance he rarely used fixed. The bloody landlord wouldn't take care of it so he bought a camping chest and kept the few body parts he was able to pilfer from the local morgue in there. 

He drank his tea in one go when he realised he'd been thinking about the morgue for ten minutes and it had almost gone cold. Best not dally.

He went back into the loo and took off the scarf. His hair had settled a bit and he rubbed some product into it before washing his hands and slipping on a pair of charcoal trousers, tight white button down and his greatcoat. Couldn't put off the inevitable. 

_____

John was filling out paperwork when Sarah came into his office. He didn't hear her at first, still overwhelmed with the menial task. 

"John. It's time for lunch." she said for the third time. 

"Oh, damn. Okay, thank you Sarah." he replied, rubbing the heel of his hand across his eyes. 

"Do you want to, um, go someplace?" she asked tentatively (he'd been distant on their date the night before and she was trying to prepare for the brush off). 

"Oh, um, well I really can't. I'm meeting an old army buddy. Sorry, maybe next time." He lied transparently. 

She nodded and left the room as he got up to slip out of his white coat and make his exit. The whole way to the cafe he thought about the young man who worked there and his dream the night before. 

_____

"Doctor Watson." Sherlock said with a bit too much excitement. "I saved your table for you." 

The older man smiled and sat down in the seat he'd been at the day before. It was charming that the boy had thought to keep the seat for him. He was obviously just as excited to see John as John was to see him. 

"I have a first name, you know." He said with a warm smile. 

"Whatever you say, doctor." Sherlock replied as he passed the menu over. 

John set the menu down and took the boy's hand. "What have you done?" 

"Burned myself making tea. My hotplate is dying." Sherlock said miserably as John looked over the wound. 

It was puffed up now and red. He frowned at it and wrapped it back up. 

"Come by my office after work and I'll get it cleaned up for you." John said as he passed a card over. 

"Thank you, sir." Sherlock replied with a shy smile. 

John licked his lips as the boy walked away. Jesus, what a shirt. It was so bloody tight you could see every muscle in Sherlock's back move. And how they moved. Bloody gorgeous. He had to know. He just had to. 

John decided on the tomato bisque and signalled to Sherlock that he was ready. The boy brought him an ice water and took the menu. 

"Something warm today, sir. Quite a bit of rain out there." Sherlock said with a slight blush. 

"Just what I was thinking. Tomato bisque. And a tea, you know how I like it." John said with a wink. 

"Yes, sir, right away." Sherlock replied, trying to sound in control and failing spectacularly. 

John grinned as he walked away flustered. 

"A little young for you, don't you think?" Murray asked from John's side. 

John choked on his water and glanced up. "Can you blame me?" 

"He's pretty, I'll give you that." Murray said, chuckling and taking a seat next to John. "Look, I've been meaning to say-" 

"You don't have to." John replied sternly. 

"He was a good man, I feel I should." Murray replied soberly. 

"Yeah, well, sometimes that counts for shite, doesn't it?" John bit out. 

"I had to say it, that's all. I'll let you have your lunch." Murray replied sheepishly as he got up and walked to the back. 

"Thanks, Mur. Really." John shouted over the din. 

Murray nodded but kept on his way. 

"Your food." Sherlock said softly. 

John nodded and pulled the bowl closer to himself. 

"The woman across from you would like your number. I'd suggest you give her a false one if she asks. STI." Sherlock said. 

John's eyes went wide and he looked at the woman. She smiled coyly and gave him a little wave. He glanced up at Sherlock and the boy pulled a face. Sherlock wasn't expecting John to laugh and when it came he found himself laughing with him. 

"Go away, you're a horrible influence." John teased. 

Sherlock shrugged, grin still plastered on his face, and walked to the back. When he came back out John was gone but there was another twenty pound tip waiting for him. 

_____

Sherlock pulled his apron off and counted his tips. He'd actually made quite a bit as he'd been happy to see the doctor and it had shown on his face. Silly how others thought it was about them. Silly, yet profitable. He nodded to Mr Murray and walked out the front door. 

The rain was still coming down and he cursed not bringing an umbrella. Deciding to take a cab he stuck out his hand and waited impatiently. One came along almost immediately and he told the cabbie to take him to Bart's. The man looks suspicious, the ride only being a few blocks, but drove on none the less. 

Sherlock passed over the fee and jumped out into the pouring rain and ran into the building. Once through the doors he shook of his greatcoat and hair and walked to the stairs. Second floor, halfway down. Sherlock had been here many times before trying to talk the pretty morgue attendant out of spare body parts. He'd got a few fingers and an ear but that was about it. 

He knocked on the office door reluctantly and a woman walked up behind him. 

"He's in surgery. You can wait out here." she said, looking him up and down and smiling. 

Flirt. Boring. 

"Can't I wait inside?" he asked with his best sex voice. "The doctor will be happy to see me." 

She frowned at the implication but opened the door. They'd dated, it was obvious. She'd been hoping for a full-time boyfriend and he'd been unsatisfied with her company. She was hoping he'd change his mind. Her hopes seemed to be crushed. 

Sherlock sat down on the fancy couch and looked around the room. It was extravagant, even for a surgeon, and he got the impression someone besides the doctor had decorated it. There were paintings on the walls, not prints, and sculptures spread around tastefully. The desk was a beautiful mahogany and there was a Tiffany lamp on it next to the piles of paperwork. 

It wasn't as if Sherlock had never been around such opulence, it was just that he hadn't sat in such a comfortable couch in a while and he ached to run his toes through the plush carpet. He slipped off his shoes and socks and closed his eyes, humming in contentment. 

"Making yourself comfortable, I see." came a voice from his right. 

He looked over quickly to see the doctor fresh from a shower and smiling radiantly. His heart raced at the thought of the man before his glistening with water. Even though he was fully dressed his skin was still flushed from the warmth. Sherlock ached to taste him. 

"Sorry, sir." He choked out as he slipped his socks and shoes back on. 

"No need to be sorry. Let's see that hand." John replied. 

Sherlock went to where Dr Watson was sat at his chair and held his hand out, ignoring the voice in his head that told him he should kneel. 

"That's quite a burn. Why didn't you put anything on it?" Dr Watson asked. 

"Mind over matter, sir, soothing it with a salve would weaken my resolve." Sherlock replied. 

John huffed a laugh. "We could have used more like you in the army." 

"You really couldn't." Sherlock replied nervously. "I don't take well to direction." 

"Maybe you've never had the right director. Kneel for me." John whispered. 

Sherlock all but fell to his knees at that and John smiled softly down at him as he pulled a small med kit forward cleaned and rubbed a salve over the puckered skin. He wrapped it once more and let go. 

"You've got to take better care of yourself, Sherlock." Dr Watson said as he stood. 

Sherlock watched him from his place on the floor as the man went to retrieve a large paper bag from across the room. 

"Up you get." John said with a gentle smile. 

Sherlock rose to his feet gracefully and met John halfway. John handed him the bag and squeezed his bicep. 

"I've got paperwork to do now. I'll see you tomorrow." he said. 

Sherlock felt the weight of the bag and grinned. 

"A new hot plate and an electric kettle? Thank you, Dr Watson." he said. 

"God, you're brilliant. Go now or I won't be able to ask you to leave."

Sherlock blushed and nodded, turning to walk from the room.


	3. Aren't You Going To Kiss Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's heater breaks. And there's a leak in the roof. And then it starts snowing. Guess who takes the stray kitten home.

The next few weeks went the same with John coming in for lunch and leaving a huge tip and Sherlock stumbling over his words and sharing deductions. Sherlock was able to buy a much needed replacement microscope lens with the money as well as a few pairs of new socks. He would always blush when putting them on. He felt ridiculous. 

One night, in the middle of a fierce storm, a leak began on Sherlock's bedroom ceiling. That wouldn't have been too awful, as he could have spent the night up, but the heating broke as well. Sherlock set his trash bin on his bed to catch the rain and put on two pairs of socks and his greatcoat. After a few hours of suffering in the cold the rain turned to snow. 

He wasn't going to call his brother, he just wasn't. He'd go to Mr Murray's and knock on his door, he'd surely let him kip on the sofa. He went out into the night clad in three shirts, a sweatshirt and his greatcoat and made his way across town. It was an hour later that he arrived at the flat above his work. 

He rang the doorbell. He rang the doorbell again. He knocked on the window and then the door. His teeth were chattering and his fingers, even through his gloves, were growing painful from the cold. He yelled at the top of his lungs and still there was nothing. 

His car was gone. Stupid, stupid! He'd spent all this time knocking and the oaf wasn't even there! What was becoming of his mind? 

"I'm going to have to find a coffee shop and spend the night there with bloody med students and insomniacs! Wonderful!" He muttered as he walked down the road. 

The snow was turning to slush on the ground and his feet were starting to get wet. It took another ten minutes to find a cafe that was actually open and Sherlock almost collapsed when he made it in. The girl behind the counter gave him a sympathetic look and Sherlock cursed her inwardly until he saw his reflection. He looked like a wet cat. 

"Coffee, love?" she asked. 

"B-b-black. Two sugars." he replied roughly. 

She nodded and poured him a mug as he slipped a few notes across and went to sit in the corner. The mug was painful on his hands at first, heat almost the wrong thing for the icicles that used to be fingers. He resorted to putting his gloves back on and sipping the drink angrily. 

"Bloody hell!" a familiar voice from behind him exclaimed. "We should get you a towel." 

Sherlock looked up to find Dr Watson, rings around his eyes, grinning at him. Insomniac. Of course. Nightmares from the war. 

The waitress brought them a towel and the doctor sat down beside him and ran it through his hair. Sherlock couldn't account for the warmth in his belly, as his skin was still frigid, and he didn't try. He closed his eyes and let the older man care for him in a way no one had for many long years. 

"Why are you soaked? Why are you awake?" the doctor asked. 

"H-h-heater broke. Leak in the c-c-ceiling. Tried to go to M-murray's but he was gone." Sherlock said nervously. 

He knew he sounded pathetic. He knew his state must be disgusting to a man with such control over his life. He was a disgrace, couldn't even take care of himself. He'd probably have to move back home and then Dr Watson wouldn't talk to him ever again because he was a stupid baby and he couldn't-

"Hey! Hey, it's okay." John muttered as he gripped Sherlock's shoulders. "Come on, I'm taking you back to my place." 

Sherlock's eyes went wide and John chuckled. "So I can get you out of these sopping clothes." 

Sherlock nodded and followed John out to a waiting car, leaving the coffee and the cafe behind without a thought. He simply couldn't understand why this man would want to take care of him. 

The car was heated wonderfully and Sherlock couldn't help unbuttoning his shirt a bit and leaning over the vent. John laughed beside him and Sherlock wondered if he was being laughed AT before he looked up and saw genuine warmth in John's eyes. No one looked at him like that. No one. 

They made it to a tall building with a doorman and expensive decor in no time and Sherlock followed John up to his flat. It turned out to be more of an apartment, sprawling across a whole floor. John walked Sherlock to the bath and took his coat. 

"Take a hot bath. I'll grab you something to wear and get this cleaned for you." John said softly. 

Sherlock nodded and blushed a bit before the door was closed. He sighed deeply and turned on the tap, letting the hot water fill the tub half way before getting in. It felt wonderful. He let his eyes slip closed and just floated there for a while. When a gentle knock came to the door he sat up quickly and some water went over the edge. 

"I'll leave the clothes out here. You can use my deodorant and shampoo if you like. Anything really. There's a robe in the closet and I've got a fire going." John said through the door. 

"Okay, sir." Sherlock replied, perturbed by the slight lisp on the last word. 

"Take as much time as you want, Sherlock." John added. 

_____

After a long while the water was getting tepid so Sherlock climbed out of the tub and dried off with a plush towel. He found himself getting hard at the thought of smelling like the doctor and used the deodorant as well as a touch of expensive cologne. When he was dry he wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door. 

On the floor were a pair of pajama trousers, a t-shirt and a soft cable knit jumper. He took the stack of clothes and went back into the loo to change. He tried not to be self-conscious about his height but the situation wasn't helping. He pulled on the sleeves of the jumper but his forearms remained bare. He tried to pull the trousers down far enough the cover his ankles but that left a graphic amount of his pubic hair showing. 

He finally just took a deep breath and walked out into the sitting room where the doctor was relaxing by the fire. The older man choked on his drink when he saw Sherlock in his clothes. Sherlock's face broke and John hopped to his feet to soothe him. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. You look...you just look..." he began. 

"Ridiculous." Sherlock said with a frown. 

"Adorable." John replied. 

"I'm not adorable!" Sherlock pouted. 

"I ordered takeout, hope you don't mind." John replied as Sherlock stood pulling at his sleeves. 

"I'm not hungry."

"When was the last time you ate?" the doctor asked. 

"Yesterday." Sherlock replied guiltily. 

"Sherlock Holmes! What have I told you about taking care of yourself?" John admonished. 

Sherlock looked at his feet and John sighed. 

"Come into the kitchen." he said. 

Sherlock let himself be led by the hand, that spark he always felt when John touched him lighting fiercely. John pulled chow mien and cashew chicken out of a bag and passed Sherlock a pair of chopsticks. 

"Aren't you supposed to have a chef or something?" Sherlock asked, looking around at the giant room. 

"You deduced me the day we met, do you really think I'd have a chef?" John said with a laugh. 

Sherlock smiled and popped a piece of chicken into his mouth. John went to the fridge and got out a pair of cold beers. He set them down on the counter and then thought twice about it. 

"Are you old enough to drink?" he asked. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the beers. "I'm not a child, doctor Watson." 

John smiled and watched him struggle with the cap before taking it back and opening it for him. 

"You know you're going to have to eat more than that or you'll get tipsy pretty quick." John said as he took a long pull of his beer. 

"I'll be perfectly fine!" Sherlock insisted. 

_____

Twenty minutes later Sherlock was grinning stupidly and talking nonstop. John sat back and watched him, thoroughly enraptured by his sudden relaxed state. 

"So I told him I wouldn't be nice to customers no matter what he said!" Sherlock mumbled. 

"You're nice to me." John replied. 

"That's only because I want to kiss you, but don't tell." Sherlock whispered. 

He must have realised who he was talking to just then because his eyes went wide and he slapped a hand over his mouth. John just chuckled. 

"I think it's time for bed." he said. 

Sherlock nodded quickly and followed John to one of his guest rooms. John pulled the covers back and helped Sherlock under them. 

"What time do you have to be up?" he asked as he turned off the light. 

"Seven or something." Sherlock replied with a yawn. 

"Alright, I'll get you up at seven or something." John said with a giggle. He turned to walk away when he heard Sherlock's voice, soft this time. 

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" he asked, his lisp acting up and making John ache with affection. 

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sherlock. It's late and you're drunk and I'm almost twice your age." he said honestly, the words hurting him but needing to be said. 

"And I'm pathetic and you're an important doctor and no one takes me seriously and I can't be a detective because I have to work at a stupid cafe and-" Sherlock was cut off by John's lips on his. 

When John drew back Sherlock let out a breathy 'oh' and John brushed a hand through his curls. 

"Happy?" he asked. 

"Yes." Sherlock whispered, lisp stronger than ever. 

"Good, now go to bed." John said as he stroked his thumb across one sharp cheekbone before walking out of the room.


	4. You Can't Buy Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets himself a bit worked up and John realises he has to say what he's been thinking.

Sherlock was spread out on his back with his mouth hanging open when Madeline walked in with his freshly cleaned clothes. She was just back from the dry cleaner and had brought along a coffee and pasty from her favorite place. Dr Watson had said the boy didn't eat enough and had made her promise to get at least something in him before she left. 

The doctor had been gone for three hours, on a plane to some Doctors Without Borders thing, and she'd been biding her time in waking the boy. She was told seven o'clock and when the clock finally made it there she was relieved. 

It wasn't that she didn't want him around, she was sure anyone the doctor liked was good enough for the likes of her, but she'd yet to meet him and he looked a bit posh for her. Funny thing to say as she worked for a successful surgeon and all but Dr Watson had always been different. She wasn't sure if it had to do with childhood poverty or the army but he never acted as if money made him any better than anyone else. She wouldn't give up working for him for the world. 

She ran a hand across the boy's forehead to push his curls aside before setting the coffee and food down and calling his name. 

"Sherlock. Sherlock, dear, the doctor told me to wake you at seven." She whispered soothingly. 

"But mummy, I want to sleep in." he whined, rolling over and curling in on himself. 

She stifled and laugh and shook his shoulder gently. He rolled over and stretched before opening his eyes and sitting bolt upright. 

"You're the maid. Where's doctor Watson?" he asked, voice suddenly low and almost demanding. 

"He had to leave a while ago, sir. Asked that I make sure you get up on time." she replied. 

"Oh. He's...so, he's gone?" the boy muttered, looking suddenly lost. 

She settled next to him on the bed and passed him the coffee. He took it with hesitance and sipped. The contented sound he made cheered her up a bit and she passed over the pasty. He looked at it suspiciously and she laughed. 

"The doctor said to make sure you eat. It's just beef, love. Nothing untoward." she said. 

"What do have to pay you to get you to tell him I ate?" Sherlock asked. 

She patted his knee and stood. "My loyalty isn't for sale. You'll find yourself in the same position in no time." 

He seemed perturbed by that and looked her up and down before speaking shortly. "I am loyal to no one but myself." 

"We're all loyal to the Captain, dearie, just takes us a while to see it." she said as she left the room. 

He set the pasty and coffee down and pulled the sheets back, temporarily shocked by his own nakedness. 

"You get your pants when you finish your breakfast." Maddie said from the far room. 

"This is blackmail!" he spit back angrily. 

"That's enough talking out of you, young man." she shot back. 

\-----

An hour later John's driver was bringing Sherlock home. The boy had refused to sit in the back and was instead grilling the man on John from the passenger seat. 

"Where is he now?" Sherlock asked. 

"Syria, sir. Another bombing, I think. Got the call this morning. I drove him to the airport." the man replied. 

"Maddie said something about Doctors Without Borders." Sherlock said quietly. 

"That's Captain Watson for you, always running off to help someone. I think he gets itchy in civilian life myself. He's not like the rest of us."

"You're waiting for me to say 'how so'. You want to elaborate. Are you attempting to sell me on the 'good doctor'?" Sherlock asked, suspicion warring with curiosity on his face for the second time that day. 

"Oh, no, sir. You're sold. Wouldn't be asking me about him if you weren't." the man said with a grin. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried for his best bored voice. "How so?" 

"We're like housecats. We work and we laze about and we do the same the next day. The Captain is like a service dog. He needs to be useful or he goes stir crazy. Bit like you. I expect you're more in it for the excitement than the use, though."

Sherlock found himself, for the first time in a very long time, not only forcibly silenced by another's words but wondering how much of his true motives others could see. 

"This is yours, sir. I'm sure we'll be seeing you around." the man said, waking Sherlock from his trance and gesturing to the street. 

Sherlock nodded and got out, making his way deftly around the movers and repair men that seemed to have congregated on the stoop overnight. He barely even registered them as he made his way up the stairs. That is, until he found that they were milling about in his flat. 

"Where is that bastard? He legally has to give me notice and I never bloody signed to have you lot in, so get the hell out!" Sherlock shouted. 

The woman he'd met in John's office, Sarah or Cindy or something, appeared out of nowhere with a clipboard. 

"Sorry to confuse you, sir." she said, not sorry at all. "Dr Watson put in a work order for your ceiling. That and a few updates for your, well, almost kitchen. If you could sign here." 

Sherlock must have looked like a dying fish because she pressed the pen into his hand and tried to reassure him. 

"It's all free. He's taken on the fee, we just need your signature that the workers arrived." she said. 

Sherlock took the pen and scratched his name before walking around the group of workers and grabbing his rucksack. 

"I've got work." he announced. "I expect you'll be done by six." 

The woman nodded at him as he rummaged around in his bag for his cigarettes. He pulled the pack out and jumped a bit when the woman put a hand on his. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small box. 

"The doctor wants you on the patch." she said, taking one out and pushing his sleeve up to apply the adhesive circle. 

Sherlock was so stunned he just watched her place it and take his cigarettes out of his hand. She pushed the box of patches into his bag and turned to walk away. 

_____

Sherlock stomped the whole way to work, not comfortable admitting to himself that his feet actually hurt from it. He slammed the door when he finally made it to work and his only coworker, a short girl with now impressively large green eyes, took in a surprised breath. The lunch rush hadn't begun yet and there was no one but her in the front of the building. He growled and walked past her to put his things away and get ready for his shift. 

_____

The shift went by quickly and he barely even noticed he was working. His mind was running in circles like a rabid dog around John. John, John, John. What was John doing? Why was he paying to have Sherlock's flat renovated? Why had he insisted he stop smoking? Why the bloody hell did he care? 

Just as he was stuffing his work things back in his locker and getting his rucksack Mr Murray came up and stood beside him. "Got an extra fag? This whole day has got me wound tight." 

"No!" Sherlock shouted. "I'm on the patch now. I'm not ALLOWED to smoke!" 

Mr Murray took a step back. "Maybe you need two." he suggested. 

Sherlock frowned and stuffed his hand in his bag, pulling two new patches out and passing one over. Murray smiled and copied his movements as the boy stuck one onto his forearm. 

"Someone's finally got you trying to quit?" he asked. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked out the door. 

"See you tomorrow, Sherlock." Murray called after him. 

_____

The next few days went just as miserably. Sherlock almost texted John a million times but thought better of it. It wasn't like he needed to talk to the man. He wasn't dating him or anything. Sure, he'd paid to have Sherlock's ceiling fixed and a few new appliances, but that didn't mean anything. He was rich. He had the money. He was unsuccessfully wooing Sherlock, that was all. 

As much as it was nice to have new things Sherlock didn't really need them. He was perfectly fine doing without. Perfectly. He liked his freedom, after all. He could go home and do whatever he wanted without worrying about someone else and that was...that was for the best. It wasn't like John was worrying about him. They had bloody mobiles in Syria for God's sake. If he really gave a shite he would have called by now. 

_____

Late the seventh night Sherlock was sitting on the edge of his bed very pointedly not thinking about Dr Watson. The man had made his position clear. Sherlock was a disgrace. The older man was probably back in the country and had just been so annoyed by Sherlock's drunken childish antics the week before that he'd paid him to go away. That's what the fixed ceiling was, the new icebox. 

He slapped another patch on his arm and held his breath. No use being upset. None at all. This was what happened. People left. It wasn't as if they'd been together in the first place. It was stupid of Sherlock to think that anyone of such high standing would want anything to do with him. 

He'd been late to work three times in the past week and today he didn't even go in. His phone sat at his left, long dead as he'd forgot to put it on the charger, as he scraped his fingernails across his skin. 

He didn't hear the knocking on his door. He didn't register the sound of it being kicked open and he certainly didn't recognise that Captain John H. Watson, formerly of the Northumberland fusiliers, now of Bart's hospital, was standing in front of him breathing heavily and raking a hand through his short hair. 

"Christ! What the hell is going on? Murray said you didn't come in to work. Said you've been acting off. I've been calling, Sherlock. Why aren't you picking up your phone? I just got in from a bloody four and a half hour flight from Damascus to ten messages and one of my best mates saying he was about to break down your door! Are you even listening? Sherlock? Jesus." John shouted. 

When Sherlock finally came out of his mental hiatus doctor Watson was brushing a cold washcloth across the back of his neck and looking rather worried. Sherlock stood quickly and almost fell over. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked. 

John helped him sit back down and stood next to the bed. Sherlock looked him up and down and deduced how long he'd been there. 

"Why are you worried about me? You don't care. You paid me off. You made me stop smoking. You didn't call, you just went away and you never called and I've been walking around wondering what I had done and knowing I was stupid and got a little drunk off one beer and it's not my fault because I was tired and you were pretending you cared and so I thought you did and you should have told me you didn't care and I don't need you buying me things and I've got on just fine without you except getting kicked out of two of my classes and stopping going to work and I haven't been able to eat for much longer than even I think in necessary and you just walk in and act like you haven't been gone and you don't care and why don't you care and-" Sherlock rambled and he stood again and started pacing. 

John watched him with wide eyes for a while before coming to his senses. "Sherlock, stop pacing and come here at once." he said. 

Sherlock stopped moving but only stared. 

"Come. Here. Kneel." John said. 

Sherlock sprung forward and knelt at his feet, rubbing his face along John's thigh and breathing in his scent. John ran his hand through Sherlock's curls and hushed him until the boy had settled and was no longer shaking. 

"We need to talk." he whispered. 

Sherlock looked up in horror and John ran a thumb across his cheek. 

"No. Don't look like that. I need to say how sorry I am. I thought you knew I cared. I've gone and buggered the whole thing up, and I'm sorry." John added. 

Sherlock's bottom lip began to shake and John leaned down and kissed him softly. 

"I care. Hey, look at me. I CARE." John said against Sherlock's lips. 

"Why? Why do you care?" Sherlock asked. 

"Christ. I don't know. Because you're funny and stubborn. Because I like you. A lot. Too much, if I'm being honest." John replied weakly. 

Sherlock nuzzled his leg and John pulled him up and onto the bed. When Sherlock lay back and spread his legs John looked hurt for a second before resting his hand on Sherlock's knee. 

"I'm going to order takeout, yeah? Indian okay?" he asked. 

Sherlock nodded and watched as he left the room. He heard John on his mobile and picked his own up from beside his head, fumbling with the plug before finally fitting it in and listening to the thing start up. It vibrated nearly constantly for fifteen or so seconds as missed texts and calls registered. Mr Murray had been trying to get ahold of him as well as John. There were concerned texts from both men as well as missed calls from his school. He moaned and put the mobile aside. 

When John finally returned he had a bottle of maraschino cherries in his hand and a glass of water. Sherlock eyed him suspiciously and he rolled his eyes. 

"We've got to get your blood sugar up and these," he said, shaking the bottle in illustration, "are the only edible things in your whole fridge." 

Sherlock sat up and scooted over on the bed until John was next to him then to the glass of water and drank greedily from it. John fished out a few cherries and Sherlock popped them in his mouth with a frown. 

"You didn't call." he said finally. 

John scrubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. "We were in a bunch of small towns without service. I thought, well, obviously wrongly, that you'd be fine. We should have talked about this before I left but I got the call so early and you'd only just got to bed." 

"So talk." Sherlock replied, drinking the rest of the water. 

"Christ. Okay. Well, I'm, I was, that is, under the impression that you were interested in me. I thought if I could just show you how I felt instead of actually having to say it everything would be fine." John said. "I was wrong." 

Sherlock scowled. "I'm a bit of a novice at this. You'll have to forgive me if I get this wrong." he said softly. "I find myself unerringly attracted to you. Everything you do seems to have an effect on me and that's something I'm not completely comfortable with. I don't know what I want, but I know it's not this." 

"Oh. Oh, okay. Well, in that case, I should-" John began. 

"I need more than this. If we could just come to some kind of compromise I'm sure it could work. I could see you a few times a week. Three. How about three? I could do three. I wouldn't bother you anymore than that." Sherlock added forcefully. 

John blinked a bit and opened and closed his mouth several times. "You think I'm breaking this off?" 

Sherlock shrugged and looked away. "Obviously seeing me everyday was too much as you felt you needed to escape my presence by leaving the country." 

John laughed and Sherlock looked over angrily. "Oh, for Christ's sake. I didn't leave because of you. Why would you think...Jesus, come here." John said as he held his arms open. 

Sherlock grumbled but moved into his arms and hooked his chin over the older man's shoulder. 

"I want you to move in with me. This place is a bloody mess. You can have your own room if you like, but let me get you out of here." John said as he rubbed up and down Sherlock's back. 

"You'll get tired of me." he whispered. 

"I'll do no such thing. Let's wait for the takeaway and go back to mine. We can pick your things up tomorrow. Please, just, please, let me take care of you." John said gently. 

"You can't buy me. If that's what you're thinking you'll be disappointed. I make my own decisions." Sherlock choked out. 

"That's not what I'm doing. That's not what I'm trying to do." John said, drawing back to look Sherlock in the eyes. "You don't have to come with me-" 

There was a loud knock on the door, making it swing open from the sound of it, John knew first hand that the lock was broken, and he got up to pay the delivery man. Sherlock felt cold without John's arms around him and cursed his own brain. John came back in with two steaming bags and smiled sadly. 

"Should we eat here?" he asked. 

"No. I hate this bloody flat." Sherlock said as he grabbed his things and started past John for the door. "Let's go."


	5. Gorgeous

John followed Sherlock down the steps and out of the building with the food in his hands. Sherlock pulled his coat tight around him, blocking out the frigid air. Truth be told he was starving, almost to the point of distraction. He rarely went this long without food and it was usually due to an experiment he couldn't manage to undertake at the time driving him mad with anticipation. He would get stuck in his own head. He'd never been stuck because of someone before. Never. 

"Uh, this is me." John said, walking to a gorgeous 1956 Porsche Carrera GS/GT. "Bit of a toy, I know, but I've always wanted one." 

Sherlock ran his fingers along the body and smiled. His father had two. He'd always wanted to drive one. Maybe someday the doctor would let him. 

Sherlock found John's new money attitude quite endearing, thinking he needed to explain buying an expensive car. Well, expensive was an understatement. His brother would have scoffed at Sherlock's obvious sentimentality towards the doctor. 

John reached across the seat and opened the door for Sherlock. Sherlock slipped into the car, rested his head against the soft leather, and held the food as they sped away. 

_____

When they finally made it to John's flat Sherlock was on the verge of eating his own arm off. They went up in the elevator and he followed John to the kitchen. 

"This is a bit like the first time you came over." John said with a soft smile. "You don't get a beer this time, by the way." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried to frown around a full mouth and John chuckled. He sat on a stool across from Sherlock and just watched him eat. When Sherlock had made it through enough food that he was no longer dizzy he took a seat and looked at John suspiciously. 

"Why aren't you eating, sir?" he asked. 

"Oh, I already ate. On the way out of the airport. Finish your food and we'll set you up with a room." John replied. 

"I don't want a room. I want your room." Sherlock said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice and failing. 

John chuckled. "That's fine, Sherlock. Whatever you want is fine." 

Sherlock took another few bites of his food and set the boxes aside. John put them in the fridge and walked Sherlock to the loo. 

"Let's run you a bath. It'll help you relax." he said. 

Sherlock stood in the doorway as John got the water hot and closed the drain. 

"I went ahead and bought a few things for you. Hope it wasn't presumptuous. There is a fresh toothbrush in the drawer and I think you'll like the new shampoo. Make yourself comfortable." John said before turning to leave. 

"Will you stay?" Sherlock asked softly. 

John hesitated before nodding and unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt for him. Sherlock sagged against him and John kissed his forehead gently as he pushed down his trousers and pants. 

"In you go." he whispered. 

Sherlock climbed in and John knelt by the side, taking up a flannel and getting it soaped up. Sherlock sighed deeply as the doctor ran it across his back and over his neck. 

"That's it, sweet boy, relax, I've got you." John said as he washed Sherlock's arms and shoulders. 

Sherlock let him maneuver his body this way and that and slipped back to wet his hair when prompted. John's fingers felt divine running through his wet curls and Sherlock all but melted into the warm water. Once he'd rinsed his hair under the tap John helped him out of the tub and dried him off. He brushed his teeth and let John run a towel through his hair. 

"Come to bed now." the doctor said. 

"Yes, sir." Sherlock whispered. 

John led him down a long hallway and into a huge room with a four-poster bed near the back. He lay out a pair of pajama trousers, this time in Sherlock's size, and a soft t-shirt. Sherlock slipped on the shirt and left the trousers. John tried not to stare at the boy's pert arsecheeks as he sauntered over to the side of the bed and slipped under the covers. He failed spectacularly. 

Sherlock stretched under the covers as John got into his pajamas. He finally climbed into bed as well and turned off the light. Sherlock curled towards him and wrapped an arm around his waist as John ran his fingers through damp curls. 

"You'll stay with me?" John asked as he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's brow. 

Sherlock nodded and looked up. "May I kiss you, sir?" he asked.   
John felt his heart beat faster at that and gripped the boys neck. "Course, lad, anything you want." 

Sherlock surged forward and pressed their lips together with bruising force. John moaned into his mouth as the boy wrapped his legs around him and he felt his cock hard and hot against his thigh. He licked into his mouth and felt Sherlock shudder as he gripped one naked arsecheek. 

Sherlock pulled John so he was on top of his slim body and rocked his hips up. John grunted and pulled back. 

"What happened to just a kiss?" he asked teasingly as he brushed the curls from the younger man's brow. 

Sherlock wriggled and looked up at John with such undisguised lust that John bent down and bit at his neck without thinking. Sherlock moaned and thrust his hips and John laved his tongue over the mark. 

"Please." Sherlock whispered. 

"Please what, Sherlock? Tell me what you need." John asked. 

"Tell me what to do...Captain." he whispered. 

John took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, and sat up. "Hands and knees. Now. Don't make me tell you twice." 

Sherlock scrambled into position and John took his bare arsecheeks in hand. 

"Please tell me you've been tested." John said. 

"I'm clean, as are you." Sherlock replied in a small voice. 

"Good...that's good." John murmured as he squeezed and massaged. "You are fucking gorgeous. I've never seen anything like you before." 

Sherlock was about to tell the doctor to quit putting him on when the man bent down and licked a fat stripe from his bollocks to the base of his spine. He shivered and rocked his hips back, moaning loudly at the wholly new sensation. John grinned and slapped his upper thigh gently to watch the boy squirm. 

"I'm going to take you apart now. Tell me if you need me to stop, I won't be cross." John said confidently. 

"Yes, sir." Sherlock whined, voice almost cutting out as John delved back in and swirled his tongue in tight circles around his arsehole. 

John spent the next ten or so minutes prying Sherlock open in the most intimate of ways, watching the boy turn into a sobbing mess until he finally broke. 

"Please! Oh! Please, sir!" he begged. 

John relented, pulling back and speaking roughly. "Do you want to come? Will you come for me?" he asked. 

"Please let me come, Daddy." Sherlock pleaded, the last word so soft John wasn't sure he heard right. 

Whether he did or not didn't seem to matter to his cock as it twitched and throbbed in his pajama trousers. He pressed his thumb to Sherlock's arsehole and reached around to pull desperately at his cock. 

"Come on, then. You can do it." he said. 

Sherlock shook and moaned deeply as he began to come. When he finally slumped forward, sweaty and spent, John pushed his trousers down and gave his cock ten good pulls before emptying himself over Sherlock's lower back. He pushed the shirt up just in time and watched as he marked the boy for the first time. 

"Gorgeous." he murmured as he rubbed the mess in circles and Sherlock sighed happily.


	6. Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft shows up and we get some more porn.

Sherlock was asleep by the time the doctor came back with a warm wet flannel and seemed to be so tired that he wouldn't wake for anything. John cleaned him up and maneuvered him up the bed so he could slip in next to him and sleep. He set the alarm on his mobile and ran a hand through the boy's hair before laying against his back and wrapping a protective arm around his waist. He kissed the back of Sherlock's neck and fell into a comfortable sleep. 

_____

The next morning Sherlock woke to the smell of food being cooked and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. It wasn't a dream. The doctor had come back and wanted to be with him, wanted to take care of him. He let himself smile for a moment before schooling his face and getting up to fetch the pair of pajama trousers he'd forgone the night before. 

He walked to the kitchen and found John making eggs and fried tomato at the stove. He went and sat that the table to watch the man cook. 

"I think we should fire the help." he said with practiced disinterest. 

The doctor turned with a cocked eyebrow. "And why is that?" 

"I don't want to wear trousers. In fact, I don't think I should have to wear clothes at all. Perhaps I'll become a nudist."

John laughed and held onto the counter. He breathed deeply with his eyes closed and shook his head. 

"As much as I'd like to take you up on the offer Madeline has a family to care for and I'm sure she doesn't want to see your bits. She's only in on the evening though, so I suppose-" he began. 

Sherlock was already stripping, removing his clothes with such speed that John lost his train of thought for a moment. When he sat back down with a smug grin John turned and pulled the pan off the burner before unconsciously taking on his captain pose. 

"Just because you're pretty doesn't mean you get to be a slob. You'll pick up your clothes, fold them neatly, place them on the bed and return here promptly." 

A flush spread across Sherlock's neck and threatened to reach his cheeks. He scrambled to pick up the clothes and walked quickly to the bedroom, unable to hide his oh-so-very interested cock due to his nakedness. John chuckled to himself and plated the food. 

When Sherlock returned he had his hands placed over his lap in what he hoped looked like a relaxed position. John grinned and pulled his chin up to kiss him gently. 

"I think you've negated your right to modesty by swearing off clothes, don't you?"

The flush reached Sherlock's cheeks as he let his hands fall to his sides. John smiled warmly and nodded towards the table. 

"Take a seat, Sherlock. Food's ready." he said. 

"I'm not hungry." Sherlock complained as he sat down. 

"You're under my care now. You'll eat at regular intervals whether you like it or not." the doctor said, voice not allowing for argument. 

Sherlock frowned but bit his tongue, not wanting to disagree with the doctor. He was joined shortly and a plate with a small amount of eggs and one tomato was placed in front of him. He smiled at almost getting his way and took up his fork. John sighed, attempting to seem put upon, and took a bite of his toast. 

"I've taken the day off. I texted Murray yesterday to let him know you weren't dead and he agreed that you could have today off as well. I think we should get you some things so you're comfortable here. You can have the second study for your experiments and I'll set up a refrigerator there as well. I think I can manage to get you specimens from now on. I know someone in the morgue and she's quite keen on you. Says you've sweet talked her into samples before. Well, didn't say that exactly, but I got the point. I'll get you them with a bit more legality from now on.

"I'd like to get you some new clothes as well. I've seen you wear the same trousers twice in one week and I'd like to expand your wardrobe a bit. That is, if you're amenable." John said, going back to eating but watching Sherlock for a reaction. 

"I...yes, please, sir." he replied. 

"Good." John said with a small smile. "That's good, Sherlock." 

Sherlock preened under the praise and took a bite of his eggs. 

_____

Later that day, after getting all of Sherlock's things moved to the doctor's flat and ordering a fridge to be delivered, John took Sherlock to his tailor. The man greeted John warmly and Sherlock stood a bit closer to the doctor with a frown plastered on his face. 

"This is Sherlock." the doctor said in introduction. 

"I'm his boyfriend." Sherlock spit quickly. 

The tailor's eyes widened for a second before he nodded. "Picking up a few essentials, doctor?" he asked. 

"Some things for Sherlock today. A few trousers and some dress shirts. Nothing for me." John replied. 

The man nodded and walked towards the back of the store. 

"Don't be a brat!" John said, smile showing how upset he really wasn't. 

"He wants to fuck you. He's been hoping you'd ask him out." Sherlock replied with a pout. 

"Such a dirty mouth." John scolded. "Behave yourself." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John swatted him on the arse gently. The boy's eyes went wide before he looked at the ground and tried not to grin. He followed John to the back and joined the tailor in the changing room. 

The man already had several pairs of trousers for Sherlock to try on and John nodded to him as he appraised them. Sherlock removed his trousers and tried on each one, John watching him carefully. When he was done with the trousers the tailor brought in shirts of different jewel tones and held them up. John approved so the man took measurements. 

When they were finally done Sherlock redressed and John put a hand possessively on his lower back. 

"We'll take them all." he said. "And if you wouldn't mind picking out a tux. When should we be back?" 

"Three day's time, Dr Watson." the man replied confidently. 

John nodded and walked Sherlock out to the street. 

"A tux?" Sherlock asked. 

"We've got a banquet to go to later this week." John replied just as an ominous black sedan pulled up to the kerb. 

Sherlock stood a bit taller and scowled at it as a man in a three piece suit got out. He strode to John, all but ignoring Sherlock, and held his hand out. 

"Dr Watson. I don't believe we've met." he said with a false smile. 

John took his hand and shook it, noting Sherlock's discomfort. 

"Why are you here?" Sherlock demanded. 

The tall man ignored Sherlock completely. 

"I'm Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock is my baby brother." he said, emphasising the 'baby'. 

"Sherlock didn't tell me he had a brother." John said. 

"Sherlock likes to pretend I'm dead." Mycroft replied. "Bit of a game with him." 

"Well, Mr Holmes, what can I do for you?" John said, attempting to cut to the chase. 

"I hear you've recently began cohabitation. I can't say I'm not concerned." Mycroft said, playing with the handle of his ubiquitous umbrella. 

"For God's sake! I'm not a child!" Sherlock said with a huff. 

"I'd beg to differ." Mycroft replied. 

"Sherlock is perfectly capable of making his own decisions." John said shortly, obviously done with the conversation. "If you're done trying to intimidate me we'll be on our way." 

Mycroft sneered but let him pass. Sherlock stuck out his tongue at his brother and followed the doctor to his car. 

"Mummy would love to meet you, Dr Watson. Perhaps I should set up dinner." Mycroft said as he slipped into the back of the black sedan. 

John opened the door for Sherlock and the boy slipped in with an agitated sigh. John closed the door and walked around the car to get into the driver's seat. 

"Your brother's a bit of a prat." John said as he started up the car. 

"You have no idea." Sherlock said, sitting low in the seat and crossing his arms. 

John chuckled and drove off towards home. 

_____

When they got in Sherlock wasted no time stripping bare. He had the peace of mind to fold his clothes before the doctor got cross. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. 

"You really weren't joking about the nudist thing." John said with a laugh as he drew Sherlock into his arms. 

Sherlock shook his head and nuzzled the doctor's neck. 

"Christ. What am I going to do with you?" John asked as he ran his hands down to Sherlock's slim waist. 

"Hopefully something debauched." Sherlock replied. 

John laughed and pulled away. "I think I rather like it when you're a bit pushy." 

Sherlock blushed and diverted his eyes. 

"Gorgeous." John replied, taking Sherlock's chin in hand and bringing him closer for a kiss. 

Sherlock sighed into it and let himself be led to the bedroom. John guided him to the bed and took off his tie. Sherlock was already half hard. He lay on his back to watch the doctor strip. By the time John was down to his pants Sherlock's breath was labored and he was trying not to touch himself. 

John grinned at him and climbed onto the bed to kneel between his spread thighs. Sherlock whimpered as his cock was surrounded with wet heat. He fisted the sheets and tried not to moan to loudly. When John pulled off he whined and thrust his hips. 

"Eager, are we?" John asked, trailing his hands up Sherlock's thighs and leaning down to kiss his stomach.

"Yes, sir." Sherlock said breathlessly. 

"Beautiful boy." John whispered as he ran his fingers up to play with Sherlock's nipples. 

Sherlock keened and arched off the bed. 

"Tell me what you want." John said, voice soft but demanding.

"I want you inside me." Sherlock said, voice breaking on the last word. 

"Oh, God yes." John panted. 

He leaned down to kiss Sherlock roughly before moving from the bed to get some lube and a condom. When he returned to the bed Sherlock took the condom from his hand and tossed it aside. 

"We're both clean. I want to feel it."

John growled and leaned down to shove his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. The boy moaned into the kiss and thrust his hips up, desperate for contact. John drew back and opened the bottle of lube. 

"Go-go slow!" Sherlock said, suddenly nervous. 

The doctor kissed the inside of both thighs and poured a good amount of lube into his hand. He reached up and gripped Sherlock's cock, stroking slowly from root to tip. 

"We don't have to do this, you know." he said as he looked up at the panting boy. 

"I know what I want." Sherlock exclaimed as he thrust his hips again. 

"Okay then, I'll give you want you want...baby." John felt foolish saying that until he saw the effect it had on Sherlock. The boy's eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open. 

John let go of his prick long enough to pour more lube on his hands and then took him up again as he reached down with his other hand to rub circles at his arsehole. Sherlock shivered and John pressed slightly, surprised at the immediate give. He slipped his finger inside to the first knuckle and continued to stroke. 

"Do you do this to yourself? Finger yourself while you jerk off?" he asked. 

Sherlock nodded feverishly and John pushed his finger in all the way. He pumped it slowly as Sherlock squirmed. 

"More. Please, sir, more. Another." the boy begged. 

John chuckled and slipped the tip of the second finger into him. 

"Greedy, aren't you?" he said with a grin. 

Sherlock nodded and whimpered, rocking his hips and pushing back. 

"Say it, Sherlock." John demanded as he scissored his fingers, slowly stretching the boy. 

"I'm greedy!" Sherlock exclaimed loudly. 

"Yes, you are. Beautiful." John said as he slipped a third finger in. 

Sherlock rolled his hips and breathed roughly through his mouth. He started pleading. 

"I'm ready, please, sir. I need it, please."

John kissed his stomach and pulled his fingers out to pull off his pants and slick up his cock. Sherlock stopped him as he leaned forward. 

"Can I...that is, would it be okay if I were to ride you?" he asked. 

John choked out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah, lad. That would be...fuck, that would be nice." he said lamely. 

Sherlock stroked his inner thigh absently as John crawled up to sit against the headboard. When the doctor was finally situated he motioned for Sherlock to join him and the boy climbed into his lap. 

John held his cock still as Sherlock lowered himself onto it. He whimpered at the feeling of the head popping past the small amount of resistance and slipping into tight, wet heat. 

"Oh! Oh, that's...oh, God!" Sherlock mumbled. 

"Take it slow." John whispered. 

At that Sherlock slipped most of the way down, the feeling of being so bloody full taking his breath away. 

"Christ!" John cursed. 

Sherlock laughed weakly and rolled his hips. 

"Brat." John said as he leaned forward to kiss the boy gently. 

Sherlock hummed and pushed himself up a bit so he could sink back down. John moaned and gripped his hips. 

"This is...this is different." Sherlock panted. 

"Different than what?" John asked as he tried not to thrust up into the tight heat. 

"So full. Hot. Oh, God." Sherlock said as he began to rock back and forth. 

"Christ, that's it." John murmured as Sherlock set up a steady rhythm. 

"Oh!" Sherlock gasped as he pulled almost all the way off and slammed down. 

John grew dizzy as he reached down to feel where they met. Sherlock shivered and started bouncing in John's lap, fucking himself on his cock in earnest. He cried out and leaned forward as John's cock slid across his prostate. 

"It's okay," John whispered as he rubbed Sherlock's back and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "I've got you, pet." 

Sherlock reached down and started fisting himself as he picked up speed. John was right on the edge and it took everything he had not to go over it as he felt the beginnings of Sherlock's orgasm. 

"Oh, God!" Sherlock moaned, cock spurting wet between them. 

John thrust his hips up a few more times before stilling and losing himself to his own pleasure. 

"You're coming in me. I can feel you coming inside of me." Sherlock whispered weakly. 

John held him tight as they both came down.


End file.
